Monday, June 1, 2009

¡Hola mi amigos! (Don't worry. Now that the trip is over I will most likely stop this annoying Spanglified Petunia Face nonsense. Maybe. Or should I say quizá. Aparentemente asshole traduce.) So. Yeah. There is a little rough patch of skin next to my mouth that I am pretty sure is melanoma, but other than that it was the perfect trip. I also might have scleroderma on the tops of my feet even though I am not entirely sure what scleroderma is, but right after I finish writing this post I plan on Googling it and scaring the crap out of myself with self-diagnosis via www followed by an rx of oh fuck. Welcome home!

The funny thing about going on vacation from the internet and your blog is that you are forced to think without the voices of readers echoing in your head. Which is to say, I suppose, that I stopped thinking, or stopped listening to myself think. Do you know what it's like to constantly listen to yourself think? Your mind begins to sort of hyperventilate, only there is no brown paper bag to think into, and so it goes. I am thinking of thinking of myself thinking. I think I might write about this thought but wait, let me think about the thunk. I don't know when it was--the fifth day maybe, that I saw a gecko on the ceiling and did not think to myself, self, there is a gecko on the ceiling. Think about it. Instead the sweat just beaded on my upper lip and I closed my eyes. Gecko. Ceiling. Cosado. Hot. That's all there was.

And it was nice, the silence. The constant humming of insects not in my brain. The scorpions, the cockroaches, the scarlet macaw, the round trill of a toucan. We saw a sloth, monkeys, crocodiles, iguanas so big they looked like stegosaurus. Each morning we slopped into a salt pool created by the low tide with all the energy of African elephants rolling in mud holes. Zoey tanned brown as a berry. I forgot about you.

It was not until the day we left that I remembered. Costa Ricans are big on power ballads, or maybe it's just the ex-pats that love them some Phil Collins and Klymaxx in a country that will never be their own. Because on the 5 hour drive to the airport I was treated to a bevy of bad 80's break-up songs and the 8th grader in me began to think again. About thinking. About you. About Rick Springfield a little bit, but mostly about you.

I have this small idea that I should be embarrassed about what I'm about to say. After all, I burned my high school diaries. I know the stench of a dated true love forever, that one day's emotional pining is the next day's emotionless joke. But I'm also a sucker for love and my tan is fading. I missed you. I did. And on that washboard dirt road I wrote in my notebook about you. About how you're so fine and then I put your last name with my first and I drew a heart around it, TLA. At least that's what I think I wrote--it's almost impossible to read, the road was so bad. But I realized that writing a blog is like speaking to a crowd of people whose eyes you cannot see. Instead everyone is wearing mirrored sunglasses, and as you speak you see your polarized self reflected back a hundred thousand times, or 750, depending on the traffic that day. Dare I say it? I missed my own reflection while I was gone, the way my mind works when I am writing to you. I missed you, me, thinking. Thinking about thinking and then writing about thinking and then wondering what you think of my thoughts. I think. Thunk. Thank you. Here there are no geckos on the ceiling and my fingers are cold. But I have you, and that is almost paradise (how could we ask for more? I swear that I can see forever in your eyes...)

Without further ado about about nothing, here are some pics from my trip:

Hibiscus Faced Girl.

Tasting monkey brains. Really it's a fruit but I don't remember the name.

Summer lovin'

Bryan enjoying a cerveza in the pool. In the rain. And still sweating.

Zoey and our friend's daughter Natalie on the beach with wild horses.

Welcome to the jungle.

Man on a mission. To do nothing.

The last night we stayed at a place with television. Here is Zoey watching Charlie and Lola in Spanish. She does not speak Spanish. She was transfixed.

The only private island we'll ever be able to afford. Still, as long as it fits Bryan and Zoey, this is the only tropical island I'll ever need.

24 comments:

i could use a vacation like that right about now.i'm glad you had fun but i'm even more glad you're back :-)and...that one piece zoey is wearing??? the sunset/palm tree??? i want one of those in my size.

Looks like you had a marvelous time... that last photo? It NEEDS to go on the cover of something. A magazine, a book, a holiday card... SOMETHING! It's awesome and pretty much sums up you and your precious little family. :)

Chiquita! Yay! So glad you are home safe. Thanks for arranging the fabulous guest bloggers. I love SQP. Your photos are awesome. :)

Sorry there were scorpions though. That's Scary. Wait! The Scorpions (1984) had a love ballad (Still Loving You). Which we were. While you were gone (2009). Okay it's also kind of (okay really) Scary that I know this. But still. Coincidence? I'm thinking no. Welcome home!

Hi, I'm Susannah and I love shiny things, swimming, the smell of fresh cut grass, orange blossoms and horse shit. The feel of my children's eyelashes on my cheek is a live virus that grows in me, multiplies and sustains. I will never understand Amish Friendship Bread.

I write for love but money works, too. Email me for more info, or just to say hello.
susannah.ink@gmail.com